


A Touch in the Dark

by profoundlyfadedprincess



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Modern Royalty, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-13 11:26:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7975162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/profoundlyfadedprincess/pseuds/profoundlyfadedprincess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soulmates don’t always find each other, so despite the mark Princess Emma carries, she tries to move on with her life. Until she wakes up one morning to find the sky the most vivid blue. But it’s not the result of the man in her bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Touch in the Dark

It seemed to Princess Emma of Misthaven that the whole world was obsessed with her love life. The media learnt several years ago she was branded with the iridescent mark that indicated there was a soulmate. The media of her little European Country hunted the world looking for the Prince or Duke who was her match. They never found him.

Besides the mark wasn’t a guarantee she would actually find that person. At twenty-eight, Emma had long accepted her fate. She felt ready to settle with the next best. After all, those with the mark who didn’t find their mate were perfectly capable of settling down and loving someone else. She met Walsh, son of a British Duke, over an appraisal of some pieces his family’s heirlooms. A few lunches later she found herself enjoying his company. He hadn’t brought her a world of vivid colour but she smiled at his text messages, laughed at his jokes and felt a reasonable amount of attraction toward him.

It felt like it could be enough. She could push the little streak of emptiness away. She had been doing so for the better part of ten years already. Emma could do her duty and push it away for the rest of her life.

So when her vision became awash with the most vivid of blues, Emma could barely breathe. The night out at the London club had been normal, dancing to the exotic beat and sipping the best cocktails the city had to offer. She had gone to bed without being able to see the colours but now the sapphire in her ring was the brightest she had seen. Hues of blue were visible in the drapes. When she pulled them back from the floor to ceiling windows Princess Emma was looking at the sky. A gasped escaped her lips, thankfully unheard by Walsh who still slept soundly.

One thing she always remembered was her mother telling her how beautiful the light blue of the sky was on a clear day. Here in London, she was looking up at for the first time. Sadness crept over her. The man in her bed hadn’t caused it. Somewhere else in the city, someone else was waking up to the sky for the first time wondering just when the prerequisite skin to skin contact had been made to activate the response.

Checking Walsh was still sleeping, she slipped into the bathroom to lift the tank top she had worn to bed to check the mark on the slope of her breast. She examined it under the artificial fluorescent light but she couldn’t tell if there any change. Emma rolled down her top and closed her eyes. A tear escaped over her cheek as she sat on the toilet.

 

When she wasn’t busy smiling for the press in exquisite gowns and glittering crowns, Princess Emma worked for one of Europe’s most prestigious Art Dealers using her moniker, Lady Emma Swan. Work and pleasure had brought her to London. The constant reminder of the blue sky and the tingle in gut reminded her the pleasure aspect would not be fully realised. She decided to put the thought aside as she had an appointment. Opting for a simple two-piece black dress with matching jacket she twisted her hair into a chignon and applied the barest amount of makeup as Walsh finally stirred. Two cups of coffee had wiped away the shock of earlier but her greeting of the half-naked man was stilted. He didn’t say anything about it if he noticed.

Emma sat in the back of a hackney carriage, drumming her fingers against the leather of her handbag as the car trickled along with the rest of the early morning traffic. Her mind was replaying her evening at the bar; Mojito’s in hand, laughing with Walsh and dancing amongst the crowd. Nothing seemed to strike her. She pulled out her phone, scrolling through the contacts until she found the number of the Palace Archivist. Her thumb hovered over the number but before a decision could be made the cab pulled over.

The London Offices of Monarch Valuations hid behind a discrete door on Bond Street. They didn’t advertise their presence to keep their client base small and well-curated. Emma punched in her passcode and slipped through the glossy black door into a huge hallway. Emma visited this place once or twice a year when her expert opinion was needed. This particular case had excited her no end. The pictures of the pieces had taken her breath away. If they were what she thought, it would be monumental for her family. If they were what she thought, there would be an interesting tale to listen to from the current owner, Sir Killian Jones.

The London agent, Arthur, was reportedly smarting over the need for an expert opinion but he stood in reception waiting for. In his pristine Armani suit with snowy white shirt, she knew he was attempting to make an impression for their client. He held out his hand in greeting.

‘How was the journey, Lady Swan?’ he asked ushering towards the door he opened.

‘We took a First Class EuroLink from Paris,’ she replied as the door clicked closed. ‘It was enjoyable.’

Arthur nodded his head. ‘I did the same with Gwen to surprise her for our wedding anniversary. I take it you’ve seen the pieces?’ 

‘Indeed,’ she said with a nod of her head. ‘I’ve contacted Lady Belle French at the Palace. She is ready to receive the goods to confirm authenticity.’

The older man led her to his office where he took her coat which he hung on a coat stand. He picked up a large Manilla folder with two pairs of white gloves, offering the smaller pair to her with the folder.

‘I am in no doubt the Misthaven Royal Family are keen to see the return of these pieces,’ he said, now leading her back out the office towards the valuation suite. ‘I must warn you, Sir Killian is a bit aloof. Not exactly conventional for a man of his rank.’

Emma flicked to the profile of the buyer noting his former naval rank as a Commodore before an honourable discharge. She sucked in a breath as a glossy white door opened hoping she wouldn’t be subjected to any further surprises. She stepped in, her eyes taking in the royal blue décor before landing on a man lounging in a throne-like an armchair flicking through a broadsheet.

He seemed awfully young to have attained a knighthood. He directly contrasted with Arthur. Sir Killian wore dark jeans, a shirt with an indecent number of buttons undone and a leather waistcoat. A matching jacket was thrown over the chair. Emma glanced back at her colleague. Arthur shook his head. At the sound of the door closing, he looked up.

Arthur took the lead walking into the room ahead of Emma. ‘Sir Killian,’ he said, ‘might I introduce you to Lady Emma Swan from our Misthaven branch.’

She held her hand out for him. She expected him to shake but his hand curled around hers, bringing her knuckles to his lips. The moment they touched, she was overwhelmed with sensation as the bright shades of yellow flashed across her vision. Trained to hide the surprise, she was able to school her face but Killian Jones had no such luck so she gave him an encouraging smile.

‘A pleasure, Sir Killian,’ she said with a soft smile pulling her hand free. ‘Let’s get started shall we?’

 

A sound of an argument reached her ears while she was on the phone to Belle. She had been on the brink of telling her confident of the developments but when her name came up she ended the call. She strode to the door and pulled it open to see Sir Killian and Arthur having a heated discussion.

‘Gentlemen,’ she hollered, ‘is this really appropriate behaviour?’ She strode down to them. ‘What appears to be the problem?’

Arthur turned to her, his face flushed with annoyance. ‘Sir Killian wishes for you to finish the handling of the transaction, however, it is against the contract agreed,’ he said.

Emma nodded in understanding. ‘Of course,’ she said, turning to Killian, pausing as she noted how he was drinking her in. ‘I’m afraid I won’t be able to oversee the finalisation of the transaction due to a potential conflict of interest. I can assure you that you remain in good hands with Mr Pendragon.’

Killian was about to speak when her phone chirped in her pocket. Emma ignored it, wanting to hear his agreement, to hear the deep voice that washed over when they had spoken in the valuation rooms. However, he nodded his head as her phone went off again.

Emma pulled her phone out, her face falling just a little bit to see Walsh’s name with the message he was waiting for her at their reservation. She had completely lost track of time over the course of the morning.

‘I am truly sorry, but I’m running late for an appointment,’ she announced as she pocketed her phone. ‘Arthur, if you email the paperwork, I’ll okay it this afternoon.’ She held out her hand to Killian. ‘A pleasure to meet you, Sir Killian.’

She didn’t want it to seem like she was fleeing, but she couldn’t help but hasten. Emma was already aware Killian planned to follow his trinkets to Misthaven so she would see him again. But she had Walsh to deal with. She had her family to speak to. She had her own sense of shock to wrestle with. However, Emma couldn’t help but look back at the man, take in his face, statue.

She could barely think of anything else as the taxi whisked her away to The Ivy. It wasn’t far away, but given she was running late she felt she should make the effort to get there as quickly as she could. As the taxi pulled away, her newly found soulmate emerged from Monarch’s door. Part of her felt the urge to stop the taxi and walk back to him.

She owed Walsh her time and explanation.

 

It didn’t go well. Her chance to explain thrown out the window when he got down on one knee. Her heart thumped in her chest as she looked at the platinum ring complete with a huge princess cut diamond. Emma’s fingers curled into the cloth napkin as they became the centre of attention. Her age-old mantra of keeping up with appearances dictated she yes to make the rest of the meal run smoothly.

‘I can’t,’ left her lips instead.

He looked crushed. She looked away. Their relationship had been wonderful, three years that had been happy, but everything had changed. Had he asked twenty-four hours earlier she’d have thrown herself into his arms. Instead, she reached out blindly for the stem of her glass, looking anywhere but at the man still at her feet and sipped the two hundred pounds a bottle champagne.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said as he finally got to his feet.

He slammed the box on the table, grabbed his coat and headed for the exit. Emma signed, taking another sip as whispers gradually turned to conversation. The diners wouldn’t forget this particular lunch date. She picked up the box and slipped it in her handbag indicating her desire for the bill with a flick of her wrist.

She found him pacing their hotel room when she arrived having gone directly from the restaurant. He had pulled his purple tie off, popped a few buttons, sparing her a glare as she closed the door.

‘What’s going on?’

Telling him the story was easier than she thought. He sank into his seat with a shocked look on his face. He gazed off into the middle distance while she remained stood, her feet beginning to hurt from the hours she had spent in the heels.

‘So this is it? Three years count for nothing?’ he demanded. ‘You are mine.’

‘I’m not anyone’s property,’ she replied.

‘That’s not entirely true,’ he said. ‘You belong Misthaven, Princess. How do you know some naval officer with a fancy title will be any good for the country?’

‘Fancy title?’ she repeated. ‘A bit rich coming from Viscount Conroy, isn’t it?’ She sighed. ‘I’m truly sorry Walsh.’

She checked into a different hotel the same afternoon.

 

Her phone beeped as she contemplated calling room service having arranged a flight home for the following morning. Once she checked the flight manifests she would have no reason to remain in the city. Although, her eyes slid to the folder she had chucked on the desk. Gross misconduct aside, she could just send a text – _How does one just come across the priceless, stolen jewels of Misthaven? Sounds like an exciting episode of Cash in the Attic._ She couldn’t help but smirk at her own joke. After settling into her new room she had fired off an email to Belle asking for all the details that could be found with regards to the missing pieces.

There had been no notification on her phone that Belle had acknowledged the email. But then her work phone blipped with an incoming email. She picked it up, noting it was from Arthur with the manifests. Copied in on the email was Sir Killian Jones. She couldn’t help the smile spreading over her lips as she reached for her laptop so she could read the forms. They were expertly filled out, already bearing Belle’s electronic signature and instructions, along with valued worth with the universal symbol for priceless. Her reply was short, noting if Belle was happy then she was before adding her email signature which included her business contact details.

The next notification came as she changed into a pair of roll cuffed jeans, ballet flat shoes and a floaty blouse. This was a text message to her work number.

_What does a high-flying valuation consultant do on her evenings off? KJ._

_Contemplate the room service menu. ES._

She put her phone down with a shaky breath and bit down on her lip. The enormity of it was astounding yet now she knew she still couldn’t picture him in the bar. It must have been such a fleeting moment, bumping into each other on the dancefloor or at the bar. Emma rapped her fingers on the desk trying not to look at the iPhone.

_Would a glass of wine be considered fraternising with a client, Lady Swan? KJ._

_Strictly speaking, you aren’t my client, Sir Killian. ES._

He sent her details for a bar not far from the hotel. It was walkable and having confirmed her attire was appropriate, she took a leisurely stroll. She repeated over and over again that just because they were soulmates it didn’t mean they had to rush head first in. Besides, she’d have to tell him she was a Princess, heir to the throne of her little kingdom. She stepped into the bar, ushered in by a uniformed doorman, her eyes going wide at the décor. Her lips parted then lifted into a smile. While some colour remained in the muted shades she was used to, the new additions were miraculous.

‘It’s rather amazing, isn’t it?’ Killian whispered into her ear, his prosthetic hand resting on the small of her back.

She turned to glance at him. ‘It’s like being woken up,’ she said, their eyes meeting. ‘You have very blue eyes.’

A smile lifted on his lips. ‘Come on my Lady,’ he said, ‘it may be considered rather presumptuous, but I ordered red. I find it better for sipping while enjoying conversation.’

He guided her to a table in a booth and offered out her chair before sitting opposite. While he had changed out his earlier shirt, he was now wearing deep midnight blue beneath his waistcoat. He poured the wine into a small glass while she took a moment to absorb him.

‘I can’t say I expected this,’ he said once the glasses were full. ‘Evidence suggests if you don’t meet your soulmate by thirty, the chance decreases to almost zero.’

Emma nodded. ‘Even less if you socialise in small circles,’ she said. ‘It must have been a surprise this morning?’

‘Aye,’ he said. ‘I’ve travelled the world and never seen the sky as blue as it was this morning.’ He took a sip from the glass. ‘What about you?’

‘I was pretty much resigned to the idea three years ago we would never meet,’ she said. ‘Another statistic suggests that if you already know someone who has a soulmate, then you even less likely to find yours.’ Emma tilted her head. ‘I’m still trying to wrack my brains to figure out when we encountered one another last night. There have been terrible stories of soulmates literally bumping into one another, not realising until morning but never finding each other again.’

Killian nodded thoughtfully. ‘That was before the creation of Craigslist and the like,’ he said, ‘although I doubt someone of your position would look there.’ He chuckled at her offended look.

‘I’ve used Craigslist,’ she said. ‘When I was in the States.’

‘Please tell me it wasn’t personal ad,’ he groaned.

She shook her head. ‘A friend came home from a Thanksgiving’s gift from her mother that was, well, interesting.’ Emma shrugged. ‘Someone wanted it for the two-hundred-dollar price tag we put on it.’

‘And that’s when you found your calling as a Valuation Consultant,’ he replied with a grin.

‘I was Curator at the Getty first,’ she said, ‘well a Junior Curator, then a Valuation Assistant. I’ve been a consultant for the last eighteen months.’

Killian nodded. ‘Missing Misthaven Crown Jewels are a specialist subject for you, I take it?’

‘In a manner of speaking,’ she replied. ‘Lady Belle, the Court Historian and Archivist, is the expert. I have enough preliminary knowledge on the matter for my opinion to count for something.’ She sipped her wine again.

‘Enough so that you can’t take over the transaction in Misthaven,’ he observed, a wry smile.

‘There aren’t many Misthaven nobles who aren’t related to the royal family –’ Killian grinned at her over his glass ‘–and Mr Pendragon has, of course, already told you,’ she said softly.

He nodded as she huffed a soft laugh. ‘His phone call was less than complimentary about it,’ Killian said as he topped up her glass. ‘Why the secret identity?’

‘Why not?’ she replied, then smiled. ‘I just wanted to have the chance to have a life without all the trappings of my title, although Lady still gets its fair share of notice.’ Then shrugged. ‘I make no apologies for it.’

‘I wasn’t about to suggest you do,’ he said. ‘Had you kept yourself to your Palace we may never have met.’

‘Not with you hording away the missing Jewels of Misthaven,’ she said. ‘Where did you find them?’

‘I’m still trying to establish the connection but they were found amongst the possessions of my father’s estate,’ he explained but she noted the tightness in his jaw as he spoke.

‘I see,’ she said, then gave him an encouraging smile. ‘Well, I’m sure it will be a thrilling tale when you unravel it. I know Belle will be most interested.’

‘Aye, love,’ he said.

 

 

They walked back to the hotel slowly after eating pizza in a small Italian place that made them wait for a table at the bar. He admitted as they shared a pot of olives and breadstick that he was impressed she didn’t throw her title around.

‘I’ve had enough public fervour for one day,’ she confessed, gazing off into the middle distance towards the streets where people still walked before they were seated.

As they walked, he draped his coat over her shoulders. Emma curled her fingers around the hem and pulled it closed. She smiled, their eyes catching. While the evening had been nice, silence fell between them which was a strange cross between awkward and comfortable. Emma looked down at her feet. In her ballet flats, her feet looked oddly dainty next to his booted feet.

‘We don’t have to rush this, do we?’ she asked him quietly as they rounded the corner to her hotel. ‘I know the soulmate _thing_ means there is an inevitability about this but…’

‘You have a boyfriend?’ he finished with a lilt that turned it into a question.

Emma shook her head. ‘He… it…’ she sighed. ‘He proposed at lunch.’ She twisted her fingers as she came to a halt. ‘It didn’t go well. He’s, erm, not as nice as I thought. He knew, of course, about the mark. Everyone does. But as I said, I was pretty much resigned we’d never meet. It was okay, good even.’

‘I do understand, you know,’ he said, placing his hand over the fingers she was still fidgeting. ‘I haven’t spent the last thirty-five years of my life wandering around looking for you Emma.’

It stings a little, her breath catching.

‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ he said, his thumb stroking her knuckles.

She brushed it off. ‘I get it too,’ she said. ‘It’s not like we stumbled on one another at University like most of them do. But Walsh, or Viscount Conroy, he isn’t, and we’re no longer.’

Their gazes remained locked. Her lips hitching up because no matter how much more she needed to learn about him she could help the happiness she felt at finding him. Then he stepped into her personal space, his eyes flickered to her lips and before she knew it she pushed up onto her tip toes. Their lips met in a sweet, chaste kiss. There was no flash of bright colour but warmth trickled down her back complete with the urge to open up to him.

She stepped back. There as disappointment etched in Killian’s face for a moment before he nodded.

‘Taking it one day at a time,’ he intoned.

Emma nodded. ‘I have to talk to my parents,’ she said. ‘I’m pretty sure they are expecting me home with Walsh and his half a million carat diamond ring, not my soulmate.’ She sighed. ‘There is so much for us to contend with as well.’ His expression turned sad. ‘You could decide that no matter what you feel me the pressures of my life, my title, would be too much.’

Killian placed his hand on her shoulder. He squeezed it reassuringly. ‘Then we will work this out, Emma,’ he said. ‘You’re right.’

Relief was painted on her face.

‘So what does a Princess do for lunch?’ he asked, returning her smile.

‘Sadly, this one will be on a plane back to Misthaven,’ she said. ‘I have an official engagement tomorrow evening; presenting a series of community awards. You’ll be in Misthaven late tomorrow yourself. You should be getting an email from the esteemed Mr Pendragon anytime soon with Belle’s updated plans.’

Killian’s eyebrows rose. A shy smile crossed her lips.

‘You don’t think I could truly be expected to wait a whole week before I see you again?’

 


End file.
